


Recovery

by EzAlter



Series: Recovery [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-29 02:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12621372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzAlter/pseuds/EzAlter
Summary: Short stories on the mental and emotional trials and tribulations of two Guardians after the Red War.





	1. Inverse Graves

“Up here,” Ashe whispered. The Awoken Hunter curled her fingers around the handle of her handcannon, finding herself in a slow stride up the hill. Pellanor-17, another Guardian of similar class followed closely behind her, hugging his cloak to keep it leveled to his person. It was fairly windy on Venus.

In the old Ketch, battered and aged by the taint of battle, they needed to keep their voices down. The possibility of scavengers was absurdly evident, especially for an untouched Fallen ship. There was bound to be something worth scooping up and bringing to Amanda Holiday.

But that wasn’t why the two were back on the Ishtar Sink after all this time.

“How much farther?” Pellanor stopped a moment to garner his breath, occasionally swinging his arm behind him to stop his cloak from flying over his face. He grunted, annoyed that he wasn’t back at the Tower relaxing.

“Oh I’m sorry—do you have plans? Didn’t mean to cut in on your date with that microwave.” She didn’t bother waiting. Ashe continued to climb the hill without him.

“Just don’t like being strung along on these long adventures is all.” Pellanor continued upward. To climb at a quicker pace to catch up with the other Hunter. He made a note to remember that microwave comment as well. “Be considerate of your favorite Exo, will you?”

Ashe scoffed. “My favorite Exo’s back at Tower, probably being yelled at by Zavala on the contrary.”

With a face of sheer disbelief and bewilderment under his helmet, Pellanor stopped in his tracks once again, having cursed himself for opening his mouth. “...Cayde?” He had never sounded so betrayed in his resurrected life. “What the hell does he have that I don’t?”

“A sense of humor.” The Awoken chuckled, having slipped up on some stray debris lying on the ground. As she hit the ground, a bag slipped from behind her cloak and made an audible  _ tink,  _ and began to roll down the hill of the tilted upright Ketch, before Pellanor scooped it up.

“Hey clumsy, you dropped your…” He scrutinized the shape of the bag, the long cylinder shape it made in his hand. He could also hear liquid swish around inside. “...Your bottle. Why do you have this?”

Initially, Ashe had told the other Hunter that there was something of worth in this old Ketch. She knew he’d come if she made any implication that he would be getting something out of coming with her. That’s how typical most Hunters were, especially Gunslingers. Obviously the promise of loot wasn’t true. The Exo could see, by Ashe’s hesitant movements now, that all this was one of her tricks. Did she just plan to drink herself into a stupor inside of a Fallen Ketch? That wasn’t his idea of a good time.

Ashe hadn’t turned to him, only remained still. No words. Nothing.

“Were you just playing around? What the hell was all this about?”

Wordlessly, her hands met with the hem of her cloak’s hood, slipping it off. Then, she began fiddling around with the safety latches of her helmet, undoing them, garnering a somehow satisfying hissing sound before removing it. Ashe let out an audible sigh. Probably because she was cramped in her helmet for too long, or there was relief for her now that everything was on the table. She, in the right mind, could tell Pellanor finally.

The woman of light blue, untouched skin, sleek and short dark blue hair, and piercing light blue eyes turned to her comrade. She was somewhat glad that he didn’t take off his helmet, because she didn’t necessarily look him in the eye. Rather, she was glad didn’t have to.

The Awoken woman’s lips quivered, and she sighed again before speaking. “You ever had the stupid idea to… go back to the place you died? I mean, where you first died—before you were revived as a Guardian?”

Pellanor said nothing. Instead he made a small waving gesture with his hand to keep her talking.

She fidgeted, and absently slid her hood over her head again and began fiddling with the hem.

“To be completely honest, it’s been eating me up inside,” she said. “Told myself, after the Red War... after Ghaul—if we live through it, I’ll come back to Venus and reminisce.”

“Not happily, I assume.”

“What other option do I have? This is… it's the only thing from my old life I have to remember. Everything else is either a recap in the form of a dream, or is just written on paper. And I can’t trust that. _ I won’t _ .”

An uncharacteristic silence settled upon the two. Ashe clenched onto her hood as tightly as possible as the Exo stood there patiently. She tried to distract herself with anything in the ship but Pellanor. To refrain from focusing on the visor of that helmet. Never. Never that visor. 

There was a low hum from Pellanor, then a nod. “Then let’s get there already.”

Those were the words Ashe was not expecting to hear so simply.

She could feel heat rise in her chest, along with the inability to breathe in short intervals. She felt so tense, yet almost relieved. Perhaps the Exo sympathized with her in some way. He would keep the past where it belonged, usually. But if it helped his friend to gain closure; then so be it.

“Just don’t make this an annual thing, alright? You’re on your own next time,” he joked, giving Ashe a pat on the shoulder as he continued upwards.

Watching him go on ahead of her, she cracked a smile. “Thanks, Pell.”

He kept onwards, pretending he didn’t hear that. But Ashe knew he did. His hearing didn’t die out yet, she thought.

It didn’t take them long to reach the zenith of the Ketch. It was a wide open room, garnered with banners along each wall.

Blue. A white insignia that took the appearance of that a malformed tree, its crooked roots stretched outwards in each direction.

It didn’t take Pellanor long to realize, out of all the Fallen houses, who this Ketch belonged to.

The House of Winter. They were in Simiks-Fel.

Across the room rested the throne. Dressed with spears nestled behind it, along with its sheer size, dwarfing that of a typical humanoid, this was the throne of a Kell. Not just any Kell, though. The one who had mercilessly killed the Awoken in question so long ago. Enslaved her. Did unspeakable things to her.

“Here it is,” the Exo almost mumbled. He said nothing after that. Looking at Ashe, who appeared doleful and downtrodden, he knew something like this was probably hard for her.

Lazily, she slipped her hand under Pellanor’s, scooping the bottle from his grasp and trudged forward. There was a mix of unsureness and exhaustion in her pace the whole way towards the throne. After a silent climb, she plopped down onto the oversized cushions, the alcohol and her gun in hand. 

“Its like looking at your own grave,” she mewled elegiacally, peering around. Her illuminated gaze stopped at Pellanor. “Wanna know how it happened?”

“You remember something like that?”

She shook her head. “Was a dream I had.”

“Right,” he said, issuing a bitter chuckle. “Well let’s hear it.”

Ashe settled into the throne and leisurely uncapped the bottle. She gestured to Pellanor, offering him a drink. He refused. It was all hers.

She began to guzzle down the bottle’s contents with a rough swig, wincing as her throat and stomach began to burn. Ashe didn’t drink that often, but for occasions like this, it was a given. When she tried to speak her speech began to slur.

“According to the records the Vestian Outpost so generously  _ donated  _ to me, I was one of Prince Uldren’s Crows—that dick—who happened to be captured. Instead of killing me right away, I had my legs broken so I wouldn’t run or call for help. Every other hour I’d be tortured—shot in non-vital areas, teased with a shock dagger—you name it. And in between those hours, I’d be patched up by one of our medics they also took prisoner.”

It seemed that for every second she would have to recall even a moment that led to her becoming a Guardian, she took a drink, reveling in the alcohol’s sting. Almost like she felt she deserved it. Mara Sov had a knack for casting out Awoken who had become Guardians, like they abandoned their post in death. Not that she would remember any of that to begin with.

“Draksis himself would… the bastard made it a knack to crush me beneath his heel if I showed any ounce of resisting him, breaking what bones remained in my body. I think this lasted for a month. And then, boom.”

Taking off his helmet, Pellanor found a seat somewhere along one of the platforms, watching the Awoken from afar. “ _ Boom _ ?”

“Boom.”

Ashe took her handcannon and shoved the barrel into her mouth, then mocked the sound of gunfire. Pellanor appeared visibly concerned with that.

“Shoved a shrapnel launcher in my face,” she said. ”Was during the Reef Wars I think, so Draksis wanted to make an example out of me to Mara. Show her what would happen if she continued to defy the Fallen. I was literally seconds away from death anyway. The medics I mentioned were long dead.”

“So what happened? Where did your Ghost find you?”

“Strung up outside. He told me my body was mangled and rotten. Almost had second thoughts about picking me up.” She chuckled somberly.

The bottle of alcohol, now empty, had rolled off the throne and bounced down the stairs before it, shattering into pieces once it finally reached the ground. Ashe’s movements were loose and haphazard. It didn’t take that much for the intoxication to wash over her.

The Awoken’s eyes glimmered. She peered closely at her handcannon, scrutinizing it. “Something tells me… what if… what if it happens again?”

Pellanor raised a metallic brow. “What are you on about?”

“What if I died here again? Would everything go back to normal? Would I be at the Reef again? Would I be chatting up Mara Sov and giving Uldrin shit? Would all this be just a cruel nightmare I’ll finally wake up from?”

She hiccuped. Her gaze became more forward on the barrel. She didn’t realize it, but it was under her chin. 

“No Guardians, no Traveler, no Oryx, no Taken, or SIVA, or Red War. Best of all, no me to fuck everything up…”

Her Ghost appeared before her, watching the Guardian’s quivering hands, her finger inching towards the trigger.

“Ashe?” the little bot called out. “Your heart rate is rising. Are... are you feeling okay?”

It was a moment of stillness. The Ghost was suddenly staring down the barrel now, petrified. “G-Guardian?!”

“All it takes is just two pulls… one for you… and one for me.”

The hammer knocked back and her finger was primed on the trigger. With a slow pull, the cylinder began to turn.

“Ashe!?”

Gunfire echoed in the hull of the Ketch, continuing throughout the rest of the vacant ship.

To his relief, the Ghost was completely unharmed. He couldn’t say the same for his Guardian however. A rose of crimson spread under her chest and dripped carelessly onto the throne. She was aghast. Breathless. Transfixed to see her friend being the one with the smoking gun instead.

She dropped her handcannon, trembling. A look of genuine betrayal found her visage. “Pell…?”

“I’m sorry about this, Ashe. Really I am. But I’m not sorry that I had to do it,” he said grimly. “I’ll pay you back when you sober up. Promise.”

A tear trickled down Ashe’s cheek as she keeled over, staring across the room at Pellanor. She began to sob silently as her body grew cold.

That was the drawback to dying as a Guardian. You’d come back as quickly as you died, but the sheer pain within the process of death remained.

“Asshole…” she muttered before passing away, her body going completely limp.

For these long moments, Pellanor found himself trembling, even after the fact. It wasn’t the thought of him killing his friend that got him—they’ve done that several times in Crucible—it was the idea that a Guardian was suicidal at all. Sure, there were some that would jump off the side of the Tower for kicks, then return good as new. But this was different. Completely different.

“Hold off on resurrection,” he told the Ghost. He probably had never been so relieved to hear that.

Pellanor approached the corpse of his friend and sighed before hefting her over his shoulder.

“We’ll get you the help you need…”


	2. It doesn't have to end this way

Nia grasped a full view of the old Tower, the home she once knew battered by the Red War under the pale moonlight. In the span of a couple months, which seemed like forever, the ability to simply breathe returned to her.

Just let go. 

She hiccuped and exhaled sharply through her nose. Hot, wet streaks rolled down the sides of her face, then. Why did it all have to be so messed up? What did humanity do to deserve this?

Right, they found the Traveler. Despite this, ignoring all the odds stacked against them, they won didn’t they? Definitely didn’t feel like it. 

Taking a glance at the City below her, it seemed like everything was back to normal. Aside from the extra construction noise, it was as if nothing had changed after Ghaul’s defeat. Maybe everyone thought it was best to pretend that nothing happened. Especially now that the famous big, floating lightbulb in the sky flickered on at the very last minute, right?

Fuck. _That_.

The Warlock knew for a fact that this wasn’t over. They had four other races, gnawing at their ankles for the Traveler when it was dead. Their very Light. The game was bound to change now that it lived once again.

And that’s why… that’s precisely why she wanted to end it. To die a final death and not be part of this melting pot of Darkness and Light. Of unexplained occurrences and time traveling. To opt out of the madness humanity had rammed itself into. It was all so confusing.

Her eyes stung. The cold wind didn’t do her any favors either. All it took was a simple two steps, a few seconds of fear, and then immediate bliss for good.

She removed her circle-framed glasses and set them tentatively onto the ledge she stood on. Peering below, she could see the outskirts of the city; vegetation, mountains, you name it. Plenty of which could hurt pretty bad if she lived through it. It _was_ a long fall.

Nia had faced death several times, felt the sting of a bullet to the heart, and the searing pain of narrowly dodging an explosion, only to keel over from the aftermath of flames. One was just as painful as the other, but instantaneous relief came upon dying.

She’d known death as a Guardian, and had experienced many firsthand. She just didn’t know if she wanted to come back from this one.

She took a final breath, and exhaled slowly.

Just one more step.

“There you are!” a womanly voice rang just above her.

Never before had Nia brooded so hard in her life. Her Ghost fluttered just above her head, peering down at the Guardian with its single eye and Nia sighed, haphazardly wiping her leftover tears.

“Recreational Tower jumping, are we?”

“Did you need something, Sakura?” This was actually the last thing she needed right now.

“Oh nothing, just wondering why my Guardian wants to switch from being a Warlock to a splatter on the ground,” the little bot replied simply. “Is there something the matter?—As if I couldn’t already see.”

Nia grunted and shot her gaze away from the Ghost. She barely had the energy to do even that anymore. “Mind your business, okay?”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong—and I do mean correct me. Interrupt me if you must—but are you not _my_ Guardian? And the last time I checked, my job, according to the Traveler, and thus, my _business_ is to bring you back to life whenever you make the mistake of stepping in front of a bullet, no?” She floated in front of Nia’s face now, her eye narrowed at the Guardian. “I don’t hear you correcting me.”

The Warlock stepped away from the ledge, still absently giving terse glances at the bottom. “Yeah—fine. I get it.”

“So, as your portable-second-chance machine, I’d like you to tell me what’s wrong.”

At this point, Nia had given up on jumping for now. She intended to, still, but not in front of her Ghost.

Her face painted downtrodden, she was about ready to start crying all over again having to actually bring up the subject _and_ talk about it with someone other than her thoughts.

“Don’t make me do this…” Nia struggled.

Gradually, she began to sob.

“H-How many more wars must we endure? We’ve lost so many because of Ghaul—so much! We were chickens with our heads cut off without our Light. How we survived at all is a miracle…” She clenched the hem of her robes tightly, allowing for the tears to freely run down her cheeks once again. She didn’t care who was within earshot now. This needed to get out. “Because of the Traveler. We’re doing this because of the Traveler, right?”

“Not just the Traveler. For what remains of humanity, the Awoken, even Exos. If we could just fight long enough, they—”

“They’ll what? Call it quits? We’re fighting multiple wars with four different races, Sakura. And diplomacy isn’t going to cut it. Not to the Taken, the Hive, Cabal, definitely not the Vex, and most certainly not the Fallen. Not after all we’ve done to them in retaliation. We’re at a stalemate. A state of stagnancy that won’t end unless one of us drops.”

She stepped forward, forcing Sakura to shift backwards and give her more room towards the edge.

“So… I want out. Simple as that,” she choked out in between sobs. “One permanent death to add to several others. It's not like I’m anything substantial to our numbers anyway, no. I’m nothing. I don’t matter. Just a single Guardian who harbors these thoughts, therefore… I don’t deserve the second life I’m given anyway.”

“But a life, no matter whose, is sacred! It's a terrible thing to waste! Yours especially!” Sakura uncharacteristically shouted. Nia was almost certain she’d physically burst with that. “You are _my_ Guardian! If there’s anyone who matters most to me in this galaxy, it’s you! Nia—Nia, listen to me. You are worth all the glimmer in existence.”

The bot beeped an electronic whine and looked down.

“Please… if you were to go… I’d be lonely.”

There were no words from the Warlock. She was still crying, and her gaze still had not met her Ghosts. It had taken her a moment to realize that she was just teetering at the very edge of the wall now.

“Nia, please!”

“...I’m a terrible person.”

The Guardian stepped forward, but it wasn’t to jump.

She snatched her Ghost from the air and collapsed to the ground. Sakura was buried in her arms, aghast to see Nia alive and well. Physically at least. She needed to get her help, and it needed to be soon.

Everything was going to be all right.


	3. Evaluated

Everything was not all right.

“Glad you could make it, Nia.” The evaluator sat in front of the Warlock, an older Awoken male tapping on his data pad, scribbling what seemed to be the Guardian’s credentials onto it. Nia wasn’t sure if a Guardian even _needed_ credentials. They were always just given a gun, a pat on the back and a _good luck_ before running face-first into a battlefield.

“Yeah, glad I could be here,” she said dryly. Her palm occupied her own cheek in boredom, giving a pseudo sneer at the man. He exhaled through his nose in an attempt at terse laughter.

“Feel free to get comfortable. We won’t begin just yet.” He glanced at his watch and knitted his brows in slight irritation. “Seems the other client is a tad late.”

That’s just great. She knew this was going to take forever. Taking away her weapons, armor and access to her own vault was one thing; but barring Nia from leaving the city altogether was a completely different ballgame. And it was going to stay that way until she went ahead to get cleared by an evaluator. Went without saying; the Vanguard made it clear that they did not want to lose their own to permanent non-accidental causes.

And there Nia sat, donning typical civilian attire: a black sweater top and fitted jeans. It was always a habit of hers to wear dark clothing, perhaps to seldom stand out? Regardless, she felt so out of place having to even transmat into the Tower without her gear on. Stupid too. All because of a worst-than-usual flare-up that got out of hand. Despite her efforts, not standing out bore no fruit.

Wait. Other client?

Her bored and outwardly uninterested expression scrunched with incredulity.  “Hold it. I was under the impression that this was a one on one thing?” The skepticism in her voice cajoled another nostril exhale from the Awoken.

The man then flitted his eyes up to her from the data pad. “Were you not informed, Ms. Talon—?”

“ _Nia_ —please,” she interrupted.

“Apologies. _Nia._ Unbeknownst to you, apparently, there was another incident similar to yours earlier this week. The Vanguard, Commander Zavala especially, thought it was best for you both to be evaluated together,” he responded. There was a remnant of grimace in his voice after saying. “Yes, it is unconventional, but I’d rather not go against the Commander’s word. I will be asking you both the same questions if it will pute your mind at ease.”

With a sigh the Warlock slumped into her chair, folding her legs over one another.

The evaluator raised his brow at the woman and the unusual way she sat. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, very,” she answered simply.

“Quite. Well, we will give the other client a few more minutes and we’ll begin—”

There was a terse ruckus behind the office suddenly, and then haste footsteps that gradually ebbed closer towards the room. Shortly after, Ashe entered, rather, barged in. The two in the room could tell she was in a hurry: the way she was panting, her sweet logged forehead, and her shaky movements told that or miles.

The Awoken woman, also lacking her gear, even her cloak, wore more informal attire, contrasting the Warlock heavily. Her baggy cargo pants and dark cropped jacket suited her to be more a typical teenager walking the streets. Their unintentional coordination in color choice was the only thing similar about the two, no doubt. Nia eyed her closely, watching her sometimes odd fidgets: the way she would flex her fingers or fiddle with the zipper of her jacket whenever the room had become too silent or if she felt as if judging eyes would turn her way. Movements of an uneasy Guardian, Nia thought. Signs of paranoia.

No doubt, Nia watched a typical Guardian with a plethora of grief under her belt walk into that office. A Hunter whose blade had been dulled by hesitation and loss. Blue eyes that had seen the deaths of those close to her and had shed more tears than any man would know. An Awoken, whose sky blue skin had paled from hours of stress and depressive episodes, and even longer times of attempting to bounce back from such.

Cutting her sight to the side, away from the scrutinizing gazes of the two, Ashe jammed her hands into her pockets and she cleared her throat.

“I’m not too late am I?” The guise she put up, showing that she had an actual interest for this whole thing, was utterly transparent due to the lack of concern in her voice.

“You cut it a bit close, there,” Nia responded, cracking a smirk at her.

The evaluator sighed and peered down at his datapad. “Quite. Any longer and we would have went along without you, Miss Winters. Please, have a seat.”

Ashe did so. She pulled up a chair and plopped right down, the cushion making a sudden hiss below her.

“Now. I would like the both of you to introduce each other for our first session.” The Awoken man between the two did not quite look up at either of them. “How long we have to sit through these sessions, and _how many_ we have to do, is up to you both.” That elicited a simultaneous mumble from both clients. It wasn’t clear what either woman said, but it left room for the imagination.

Sighing, Nia shuffled around in her chair slightly to face the fellow Guardian.

“Nia Talon. Nice to meet you.” A short smile surfaced, and she nodded to the Hunter.

The Hunter nodded back in turn, not necessarily smiling, but she made a welcoming enough visage.  “Ashe Winters. Alcoholic, suicide survivor extraordinaire.”

A stern look coloring his features, the evaluator had typed something into his data pad for that split second and turned to the Hunter. “Miss Winters—”

“What? Is that not what we’re here for? To talk about what’s wrong with us, right? I’d actually rather get this over with if it's all the same with you.”

_So blunt,_ Nia thought, curving her lips upwards in astonishment. “I’m inclined to agree. We’ve introduced ourselves. Could we move this along?”

The evaluator huffed. “That is not up to you, I’m afraid. As much as I’d like the both of you out of my office and setting a Hive nest ablaze, I am bound by the Vanguard to allow neither of you to touch a gun until I deem it okay for you to do so.”

They both bit at their lips. They could tell; this was going to be the most strenuous thing they’ve ever done.

“Now,” the man began, “I’d like for both of your Ghosts to be present for this.”

“Why’s that?” Ashe questioned.

“Precautionary measures.” Whatever the hell that meant. “In case either of you fail to differentiate delusion or reality.”

Nia raised a brow in offense. Uttering something of that nature around a Warlock could have adverse effects according to some sources. Where they were now was a mystery.

Somehow Her lips remained sealed as she willingly held out her hand, summoning the little construct. Cased in a white and pink shell, appearing to be adorned with cherry blossoms as its decor, it floated just above her shoulder docilely, peering at the Warlock and sounding an electronic whine, as if showing concern. Ashe did the same and summoned hers as well, only with only a small voiced complaint. The black and white striped shell kept a short begrudged distance from his Guardian. With the events of only a few days ago, he was cautious.

“Right. Let’s begin. I will ask you both a series of questions, dating from the past few years. Only to get to the bottom of where this began. Understand?” He didn’t wait for either of them to answer. “Any difficulty sleeping? Eating habits? Changes in hygiene?” His voice fell nearly to a whisper, then.

They both chose to ignore the last question.

“I eat when time permits,” Nia answered, “sometimes on patrols, all-nighters is most likely going to be a prominent thing, and sleeping would probably be the least of my worries at that point. So.” She then looked over to Ashe, and so did the evaluator. If she had to answer these questions so did the Hunter.

As a reaction, the Awoken woman kept her head low, her hair covering more of her face than just her eye. “Not much time to sleep, or eat, or anything.” She looked tired. She _was_ tired. The mental and physical wear made itself known whether she liked it or not. “There’s a new war popping up every five seconds, it's difficult to find time to breathe, even.” Absently, while peering at the floor, she played with her jacket’s zipper, tossing it in between her fingers. “When I do manage to sleep, I dream. And when I dream, I…”

There was a moment of stagnation with the three. The Hunter clenched at her jacket’s hem, biting the inside of her cheeks. There was clear hesitation. It was as if she was fighting with herself. An internal struggle on whether she could find the words or not—or if she even wanted to.

“You what?” Nia spoke, spurring her along.

“...I feel dread.”

The evaluator tapped along the datapad some more, nodding. “Let’s hear about these dreams.”

“Not somethin’ I wanna talk about,” she responded curtly.

“Are you afraid of being judged, Miss Winters? You are among your peers. You have my word that neither of us will think ill of you.”

Ashe slumped into her chair, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets defensively. “I said no.”

The man sighed and turned to Nia. “And you? Do you have any dreams?”

Akin to the Guardian next to her, the woman adopted a brooding countenance as well. It was so sudden that the man was even taken aback by it. Before him was a domino effect in action between his two clients.

After a brief moment of silence, Nia removed her glasses and stared firmly at the Awoken man before her.

“Not anymore.”

“Care to elabor—”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Typing on the datapad once more, likely that Nia was less than willing to cooperate, the man sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought.


	4. The pain is only temporary, and in time, it will fade

The session had gone on for quite sometime; up to an hour, much to their distaste. The rest of it was filled with arbitrary questions related to the Guardians’ deteriorating mental health and how poorly they were handling it. Ashe chuckled to herself and mumbled something about drinking the pain away, while Nia remained silent, for she had no answer.

Needless to say after that, neither Ashe or Nia would be seeing a battlefield anytime soon.

They both exited the office with a sense of anxiety yet, relief washing over them. Like the weight of being a Guardian had just been lifted from their shoulders with the simplicity of a single word from the Vanguard. 

It was an odd, yet amusing thought. What would a Guardian do without the distraction of a gun in their hands? Without the diversion of death?

Wordlessly, the two began to split and walk their separate ways. Neither of them felt any need to stick around here any longer.

“Well, that could have gone better,” both their Ghosts commented as they were walking away.

The pink and white shell turned around to the pair, and Nia had stopped after her. “You’re telling me. What a card, that guy.”

Blink made a pleased, agreeing beep. “He wasn’t the only pushover in the room however. That’s for sure.”

“It’s like two dogs passing each other on the sidewalk…” the Warlock grumbled.

An exhale exited Ashe’s nostrils in the form of a short chuckle. “Took the words right outta my mouth.”

The two stood, mutually sizing each other up. They weren’t exactly displeased with what they were looking at. A simultaneous smirk fell upon the faces of both parties. They didn’t know what this was; certainly not another two-person domino effect like in the office. It seemed like something more meaningful than that. With how adamant Ashe was when it came to meeting other people at times, this was most uncharacteristic as well. It felt strange to the both of them, even to Sakura and Blink. It was like a connection. An unintentional hivemind, even though it was their second time meeting. It looked like they had finally taken notice.

Smiling, the Warlock was first to part her lips. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself.” She noticed their Ghosts fluttering around each other and shook her head in amusement. That was apparently their way of breaking the ice. “Nia, right? Was about to head downtown and grab a drink. Don’t suppose you wanna come with?”

“Like, what? To a bar?” Nia’s head cocked to the side. “It’s like eleven in the morning, y’know.”

Blink sighed. “Yeah, she usually drinks herself dumb at twelve in the afternoon.” He stared at the Hunter with a narrowed eye, his irritation clear. “We’re an hour ahead of schedule.”

The Ghost was then nudged callously away by his Guardian’s finger, out of annoyance of course. 

Her approach towards Nia was more confident this time as she offered a welcoming hand, prodding her. “Could use the company.”

Truthfully, she did. Her thoughts were the last things she wanted to be alone with right now. The Warlock felt the same.

It was only five seconds. Five quick seconds of silent considering before the Warlock accepted, to both Ghosts’ surprise.

With a slight slap of their skin, their hands clasped together, then Ashe, with a smile, pulled her along. Out of the Tower they went, only then did both women begin to feel the anxiety in their guts again as they ventured through what remained of the Last City.

Only then were they reminded of what befell them. A cruel painting of dread they were forced to stare at whenever they were to blink.

Several of the routes Ashe used to take were blocked off due to the extra construction being done. A massive part of her wished they could at least take their ships to beat traffic, but of course those, like them, were strictly bound to the city as well.

Nia hoped Ghaul was roasting within an extra hot pit in hell for this, for all that he’d done.

After sometime, they agreed to give up on going to a bar for now. The two had found a small cranny to squat in for a while, away from prying eyes or ears. A narrow alleyway. Not an ideal place for two Guardians to sit down and shoot the breeze, but there were worse choices. Ashe plopped down onto a dumpster, while Nia leaned along the wall in front of her. 

The Warlock’s fingers flexed. “So, how were you planning on doing it?”

“‘Scuse me?” The words rang into Ashe’s ears like a startling chime, leaving her taken aback. Tension then burrowed into both their stomachs.

“How were you planning on ending it?”

The Hunter eyed her skeptically, almost offended that she would ask something so out of turn so suddenly.

“Hear me out. Would you rather me, someone who’s in the same boat as you, talk about this, or some stuffy dude with a data pad, writing down your every move or fidget or slight tick?” she reasoned, “that kind of thing makes you feel more alone than you already are, if you want my opinion.”

Ashe’s scrunched-up face had loosened after a few seconds. She breathed slowly and then let a sigh slip her lips. She was actually considering this. “Fair enough.”

“So what’s the deal? What were you gonna do, and why?”

Between them, the ground became the more popular thing to stare at, especially for such a sensitive topic. The Hunter became sullen. If she’d known this was going to be the first conversation point, going to the bar would have been the number one priority.

“Was gonna shoot my Ghost, then myself. On Simiks-Fel,” Ashe nearly grumbled, her voice hoarse with regret.

“House of Winter ketch?”

She nodded. “Was where I first died when I, you know, wasn’t a Guardian.”

“Gotcha. Couldn’t take the pressure of being one?”

“More like I couldn’t take the guilt,” Ashe said on the contrary. “Had a lot of people’s lives riding on me in the past, and now I can feel my mistakes crawling on my back, festering.”

She dipped her hand into the pockets of her jacket and fished out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, giving it a slight tap with the back of her hand.   
  
_ Flick. _   
_ Flick. _

_ Flick. _

The lighter refused to work now of all times. The irritation on Ashe’s visage was more than visible.

Nia sighed. “Not a Gunslinger, are you?” 

She approached the other woman and flexed opened her palm. She could feel the Light surge through her core in full as a ball of flame then emerged in her hand almost immediately. The Warlock held out her other hand, gesturing towards the pack of cigarettes. Was she asking for one as well? Ashe tapped the box again and handed one to Nia, who solemnly held the open flame between them and closed her eyes, lighting her own cigarette. 

Cigarette placed ceremoniously in between her lips, Ashe edged her face towards the flame, the cancer stick’s tip held inside the fire to be lit as well. As she glanced up at Nia, she noticed her gaze was pointed elsewhere, as if purposefully to avoid Ashe’s. They did happen to be close, extremely close.

The Warlock cleared her throat. “Hey, you done?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.”

Two simultaneous puffs of smoke rose out of the alley, then.

Ashe hummed in appreciation. “Thanks.” She filled her lungs with the cigarette’s contents, internally feeling the stress abandon her body, and along with it, the smoke as well. “So what about you?”

“Nothing too extravagant. Was gonna jump off the Tower.” Ashe almost questioned why she appeared so blunt when she said that, but dropped it. ”To be completely honest with you, I don’t think that I can handle another war.”

“Something tells me the pressure got to you instead.”

“I had to opt out some way or the other. We’ve lost so much in the Red War. After we won, I…” Nia let a sigh slip from her lips. She could feel the tears begin to run again, and she removed her glasses to wipe her eyes. “I just snapped. I couldn’t go on anymore—not like this. Not in a reality where we’re forced to fight, kill, die, then live again, just to defend a giant floating ball in the sky that’s bound to leave us soon enough, just as it did with countless other civilizations before us. I wanted to be free from the pain, to make everything just stop; so I made the decision to try and jump.”

The tears were fully running down her cheeks now, whether she liked it or not. Not even a minute and Warlock’s silent sobs had filled the alley. Despite this, she kept the cigarette in her mouth, still absently inhaling the smoke, allowing it to fill her lungs. Allowing the thought of an unfulfilled end—the knowledge that she would never, ever be free of the world she was plunged into, by either her own hand or otherwise—to overtake her.

And then she exhaled it all out, purging it.

Ashe watched her vent, fully registering that the both of them, by the Traveler, had it bad. This fate—this dissolute gloom that settled upon the two, had no end. She said nothing; only continued to smoke silently whilst the other Guardian weeped.

It all eventually stopped however. Her sobs and tears and complaints, they passed as quickly as they came.

With a sigh, the Hunter stepped down from the dumpster and approached Nia. A comforting hand rested on her shoulder, then. 

With tear-logged eyes, Nia looked up to the Awoken. She was sullen, but the gleam in her eyes were sincere. The dim, partly-illuminated pupils of the woman peered down at her. There was a look; like she was trying to tell her something in the midst of this. Something reassuring. And in light of this, she had never broken her gaze from Nia since. Not once.

Ashe’s finger rose to the woman’s face, tentatively rubbing the now cold streaks away from her cheeks.

“It gets better,” the Hunter whispered to her.

“How can I trust that?”

“You don’t.” She reached for the other woman’s hand, curling her fingers around them. Slowly, she pulled away her glasses and assisted in sliding them onto her face, aligning them with Nia’s eyes. Ashe’s hands clasped both sides of her face, the tips of her thumbs brushing over the strands of her hair, meeting her cheekbones. “You just wait for good times to come.”

“And if I can’t live with myself long enough to see such a thing?”

“Then you live for me instead. I will wait for the good with you.”

And then, an audible unrest arose in Nia’s chest.

“What’s… what’s with you?” The Warlock blinked, her visage vexed and full of dread. “Why won’t you or anyone else let me die?”

“I just… can’t be left alone with myself anymore. So I need others to keep myself going,” she managed, her already shaky voice beginning to break, “so please, live for me. And I’ll live for you.” 

It was funny; Nia had just finished crying not a minute ago. But now, with this strange Hunter she had only just met today, she was ready to start all over again.

Not only would she follow the will of others unconditionally, but she would do it better, and with more emotion than required. She always thought of that as odd. As a disability.

This was one of the reasons why she wanted to end it. To die a final death.

But somehow, standing with Ashe, all of those feelings had begun to numb.

Nia looked to the Awoken, the look in her eye now with purpose. “...Will you take on my pain, and fight my battles?”

“I’ll carry it all like baggage. And more.”

There was a knot in the Warlock’s chest as she nodded at Ashe.

“...Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I should give this chapter some fluff. It was much needed after the first few.


End file.
